“There are still ninety-six condoms left in that box,” she says. “Makes me think of that beer bottle song.”
She starts to hum.
I flip her over into the pillows and the towel comes loose around her, opening up so I can see everything. She lets me look this time and when I meet her gaze again, I tell her, “I’m sure we can put a dent in that.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Devon
Lesson 37: Always double check the shrooms.
Tara is more excited about Jeff coming to dinner than she was about her own engagement. Which says a lot considering the way she and Marcello sparkle when they’re together. She’s dancing around, filling my prosecco glass after every sip, smiling like a lunatic while my mother works on the spaghetti squash that survived the massacre the deer unleashed on the garden last night. Believe it or not, the screeching chickens, a five-foot fence, and an overweight golden retriever are not enough to deter the greedy beasties. But my mom barely batted a lash when she noticed the pumpkin entrails spread across the soil this morning, murmuring something about the circle of life to me as I left for school. Apparently, we were having a Mufasa/Simba moment while I wiped at the coffee I spilled on my jeans—a daily, unpreventable mishap.
“Top off!” Tara sings as she pours me more bubbly.
I stare up at her.
“You need to calm down.”
She touches my shoulder. Her nails are painted a striking shade of navy with a blush half-moon along the bottom cuticle. No chips. I look at my fingers and make a note to take off the remnants of last month’s polish. Woman-ing is hard.
“Do I?” she asks, sinking back into her seat.
I lift my brows and she waves my advice away. She really does need to calm down. She’s been begging me for details all afternoon, stealing the two hours of quiet I require on Fridays after school to recharge. I love her to death, but this school year is a pile of shit, with Principal Dickhead and his inability to stand up for what’s right and another week of watching Jessica fade away without any response from her mother, madam school-board president. On top of that, rumors have begun to circulate about my legendary defiance of admin’s orders to take my posters down. God knows who leaked that little tidbit, because I certainly didn’t. And I know my favorite guidance counselor, Elizabeth Stanton, didn’t.
“I’m just saying—don’t make a bigger deal of this than it is,” I tell her again.
She flicks her wrist, shooing my concerns into the ether. She makes a noise with her teeth that makes me want to lick my finger and smear her perfect eyeliner.
“Are you still pretending this is just sex? Jesus, Devon. I’ve seen the way?—”
Saved by the bell. The ring echoes around us. Tara and I both stand, exchange a look, and take off for the door like we are eight again, pushing and grabbing at each other to get there first.
“Devon! No hair,” she hollers when I grab a curl. Brutus is barking from where he lies in the kitchen and my mom is yelling for us to grow up.
“I didn’t want to touch the designer silk,” I laugh, using my ass to block her as I twist the doorknob and pull open the door letting a rush of cold air into the house.
The late afternoon sun hovers just above the tree line. Its light frames Jeff like a paper cutout, his wide shoulders blocking the pinks and purples stretching across the sky behind him. When I blink hard, my eyes focus on his warm and easy smile, the one that makes me feel like I’ve just won the lottery. He looks so natural on my mom’s welcome mat. Like he grew up next door. And came to dinner every Sunday.
“You two ok?” he asks with a laugh, and I feel Tara still pulling on the hood of my sweatshirt while I stick my ass out to keep her back—box her out like I’m LeBron.
“Why wouldn’t we be?” I ask.
Tara ducks under my arms to give him a hug. My hug. I look on helplessly while she tugs him past me, his eyes bright as he kisses my head on the brush past, into the kitchen where my mom greets him and takes the bakery box and bottle of red wine out of his hands.
“You know, Jeff. You don’t need to keep bringing dessert,” my mom ensures him.
“Yeah he does,” I say. Jeff winks over my mother’s head. The cupcakes are a living, breathing part of our relationship at this point. Jeff enjoys me eating them. I enjoy me eating them. Win win.
“Beer?” I ask him on my way to the fridge.
“Please,” he says, before asking my mom if she needs help. She shoos him away and he takes a seat beside Tara at the table. Brutus immediately shuffles over and falls onto his feet with a harumph.
Tara is in full swing by the time the poor guy can crack open the lager.
“So, obviously I have a rigorous interview process for anyone who dates my sister,” Tara says, her voice low like I’m not standing right behind Jeff as she talks to him.
“Oooh, careful with the d-word. She’s got rules,” Jeff says with a crooked grin my way.
